


What He Really Needs

by der_tanzer



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-08
Updated: 2012-09-08
Packaged: 2017-11-13 20:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starsky and Hutch go camping. Havoc ensues, as usual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What He Really Needs

**Author's Note:**

> An LJ prompty thing fill for Barancoire, who wanted Hutch h/c and jealous!Starsky.

Starsky wondered why they even went on vacation anymore. Nothing good ever came of it. Sure, the seclusion of the forest was nice. The skinny dipping and loud sex were a definite plus. But the penalty always seemed to be higher than the pleasure was worth. After all, the pool at the club was just as wet, and they didn’t muffle the sounds of lovemaking very much at home anyway. But here they were, once again, camping in the mountains where good intentions always led them straight to hell.

The worst part was the fact that it was all Starsky’s fault. He was the one who insisted on walking under the waterfall. Hutch said it was too risky, the wet boulders too dangerous. Starsky had laughed at him and that laugh was still echoing in his head as he sat in the waiting room of the tiny clinic. 

Hutch was right but he’d gone along anyway, because he wouldn’t allow Starsky to do it alone. He’d followed Starsky across the river, moving slowly, using strength to keep his balance, while Starsky leapt from one boulder to the next on speed and agility, not realizing the difference. Never thinking that a man his partner’s size would have more trouble than he did himself. He was too used to Hutch winning everything by being bigger and stronger to consider that it might not always be an advantage.

Starsky was already on the other side when he heard his partner yell. He turned back just in time to see Hutch’s last wave as he disappeared into the foamy water under the falls. Starsky could still hear that yell, too, overlaid with his own laughter. Those two sounds might haunt him forever. If there was a forever beyond this small room with its plastic chairs and his cold, wet clothes. He tried to think about that but all he heard was his own voice, mocking his dearest friend.

The rescue had been heroic enough that under any other circumstances, Starsky would have been strutting and preening like a Banty rooster. If it hadn’t been his fault. If it hadn’t been Hutch. But it was, so he didn’t dwell on his own actions. Leaping into the river and dragging ashore the unconscious body, deadweight nearly one and a half times his size, was a triumph. But it wasn’t actually heroic when it was his fault.

Later he might tease Hutch a little about how hard it was getting him back to the car, Hutch stumbling on his broken leg and slipping in and out of consciousness, being no help at all. Or he might not. Maybe, if he ever got to speak to his partner again, he would just say he loved him. And that he was sorry.

It had been at least two hours since he’d seen Hutch. Since he found the doctor’s clinic in the small village down the road and surrendered him to strangers. He’d tried to explain that he needed to be there, that Hutch needed him there, but the smug little doctor shut the door in his face. Relegated him to the waiting area out front where the nurse pretended not to see him as she bustled in and out of the room where Hutch lay, hidden from his eyes.

The longer he sat there the more Starsky came to despise that doctor. Arrogant, smarmy little bastard who thought he knew everything. Who thought Hutch needed him more than he needed Starsky. The little prick just doesn’t understand, he thought. Hutch needed a doctor to set his leg and stitch the wound on his head, but he needed Starsky to get well. The doctor might have the education and the tools, but his hands weren’t what Hutch needed. The idea of him having to endure those hands hurt Starsky as much as the knowledge that it was his fault. If anyone was going to touch his partner, it should be him.

But, he realized, sitting back with a sigh and picking at his wet shirt, no doctor had ever gotten that. They had been separated, quarantined, and banned from each other’s hospital rooms a dozen times by doctors and nurses just like this one. People who thought they did all the healing when what Starsky and Hutch both needed was to heal each other. He needed to get into that room, get those strangers’ hands off of Hutch’s body and replace them with his own. If he couldn’t do that, they might be here forever after all.

Three more hours passed before the doctor appeared, smirking at the bedraggled detective whose clothes at least had dried while he waited.

“Your friend is awake. You can see him for a few minutes.”

“Thanks, doc,” Starsky said hurriedly, already halfway across the room before the doctor had finished speaking.

“He was very lucky, you know. If I’d gotten to him any later I might not have been able to save him.”

Starsky froze, then turned around slowly to meet the doctor’s eyes. That same smug little smirk was pasted across his face, his expression declaring the secret fears of Starsky’s heart to be true. _You almost killed him. I brought him back. Which one of us does he_ really _need?_ Starsky held the doctor’s gaze until the absolute certainty began to crack, and then ran to find his partner. To find out the truth.

“Hey, Hutch,” he panted, stumbling into the room. “Man, I thought they were never gonna let me in. How’re you doing, babe?”

“Okay, I think,” Hutch said very slowly. He held out his hand automatically and Starsky stepped forward to take it. “What happened?”

“You slipped on a rock, you big goof. Busted your leg again.”

“Great,” he sighed. His eyes fell closed but his hand squeezed harder, telling Starsky it was okay. “Next time you want to go camping, remind me to say no, huh?”

“Sure thing. And our next two vacations are your pick.”

“Damn right,” Hutch said with a weak grin. “My head’s killing me, Starsk. Think you can turn off that light?”

“Yeah, I got it.” It was a bit of a stretch, but the room was small and he managed to reach the switch without letting go of his partner’s hand. “So, how about that doctor?” he asked, finally getting down to it. “He’s a real piece of work, isn’t he?”

“I don’t know,” Hutch said, finally opening his eyes again. “I never saw him.”

“What?”

“Whenever I tried to look around, all I saw was you.”

“Yeah, well,” Starsky said with a grin. “He’s not such a bad guy.”


End file.
